


the sound of our hearts getting louder

by mickeysixx



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-warming up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysixx/pseuds/mickeysixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon said they were miracles, once. The body under his is littered with reminders of before and after; both of them tell a story without words, he knows. [Rounds of Kink Round 24 Submission]</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sound of our hearts getting louder

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently when I write sex scenes I get _wordy_. 
> 
> Submission for Round 24 of Rounds_of_Kink @ Livejournal. **Prompt:** "Thing is, he’d never really got anywhere with Rick". **Kinks:** Sexual experience or expertise, First Time, Post-Warming up. **BONUS KINK:** Body Worship. I had something completely different in mind when I prompted but this hit me and ended up being an inverse of the sexual experience kink. 
> 
> Title taken from the song [Hollow Drum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLLiIetVW9o) by Laura Welsh. Work heavily inspired by [Fortify](https://soundcloud.com/katemiller-music/fortify) by Kate Miller which I recommend listening to while reading if you can.

Thing is, he never really got anywhere with Rick. They shared a drunken kiss, a quick fumble in a cave lit by candles and teenage desperation. Sometimes he remembers the way Rick’s fingers gripped his arms until they left bruises like rubble and dirt left dents across his back. Tension was a taut wire between them that night, snapped by Rick’s hushed oath the second before he threw out all pretense and yanked Kieren’s mouth to his. 

But that was as far as it ever went. Rick left, Rick died. And then, so did Kieren. 

So it’s strange to find himself here, where _here_ is something so vastly different and new and familiar at the same time. There’s no cave, no candles, no desperation. Instead of rubble and dirt there’s a single bed that’s barely big enough for one. He’s sitting on strong thighs that shift and settle minutely under him; not caught between a rock and a hard place, between need and fear.

“You ok up there?”

The words are soft and searching, delivered with a kind of patience Kieren doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. He realises then he’s been quiet for some time, lost to his own thoughts, and he answers the question wordlessly with a small nod. In return he’s gifted with a crooked smile and fingers that dance along the outside of his thigh.

“You know, we can stop if you want.”

Even through the denim of his jeans he can feel the tap-tap-tap of his fingers and Kieren’s not used to that either. His own fingers are resting lightly on Simon’s abdomen; soft skin over hard muscle under coarse hair. They rise and fall with each calm breath. His thumb is sweeping in small arches, over and over and over again. Strange being here, in this position, when he’s the one who’s never done this before. 

Maybe that was the point. 

“Kier?”

Kieren shakes his head once and continues stroking his thumb back and forth. It’s strange, too, to see healthy skin now - his own and Simon’s - where before was grey and white and a thousand shades between. His nails are longer than they should be because he keeps forgetting to clip them. Brown eyes stare back at him from the mirror. Blue eyes watch him now; steady, unrelenting gaze in the dark.

Without thinking he finds his fingers stretching, splaying out until they were as wide as they would go. Kieren stares at them, re-aligning his focus until he sees the bigger picture. Maybe he's approaching this the wrong way. Slowly, he pushes his hands outwards. Muscles arch and dip under his palms, twitch when his fingers do a gentle slide over the gradual curve of his waist. Simon said they were miracles, once. The body under his is littered with reminders of before and after; both of them tell a story without words, he knows. The round punctures that follow the veins in his arms, the scars across his left shoulder and neck from a bar fight he said he got into when he was twenty. The long scar from neck to tailbone Kieren knew as intimately as the scars on his own wrists because he’d help create it months and months before, turning raw open wound to something his wakening body could heal. 

Simon had said they were miracles. Kieren finds he can’t argue with that.

His thumbs are a wide bracket for his bellybutton. He doesn’t know what he’s doing when he leans in, presses his lips to the space just above his navel, but it feels right. Like it feels right to move a couple of inches to the left and repeat, and again just above that, and again, until he’s leaving invisible imprints of his mouth in a winding trail that leads him up to lips that accept without hesitation and give without remorse. Warm hands steady him, one splayed on his thigh and the other on his bare waist under his shirt, and the noise he makes is involuntary but the smile he receives isn’t. 

They’re alive. Alive, alive, alive. The words thrum in his head like a drum beat, like the steady rhythmic vibrations under his fingertips; a heart now beating strong and vibrant after being still for so long. Kieren rests there for a few more seconds, then his palms continue mapping the shift of muscle and the structure of bone; chest, shoulders, arms. His eyes are closed but he can see perfectly. Scar tissue creates new terrain for his fingers to traverse, throat to shoulder, bicep and the crease of his elbows, along veins chartered by a past life to wide hands and blunt fingers and back again.

Simon calls him a revelation. There he was wrong. Kieren can feel the texture of Simon’s lips and the slide of his tongue and the wet heat of his breath, and he knows that _he’s_ not the revelation. Simon is. He’s not perfect, Kieren knows that. False promises lead him here - drugs, scientists, a Prophet - but somehow he found the strength to keep going, to keep _being_ , and it amazes Kieren that he’s here, with him, when he could be anywhere in the world, _with_ anyone in the world.

His heart beats faster, knocks against his ribs when his hands slide down Simon’s chest again. A too-long nail catches a nipple and the aborted movement under him is as surprising and heady as the half-broken moan that follows. Kieren swallows thickly, breathes against Simon’s cheek as he does it again, and the reaction is harder this time; the movement jolts through him, shakes him. He feels Simon tighten, brace, a second before wide hands grip his hips and jerk him up sharply, resettle him in the cradle of Simon’s hips. Kieren’s eyes widen when he rolls up and his mind tilts, shifts, when the movement causes lights to flash behind his eyes. 

Suddenly he’s light-headed and dizzy, pushing back for space - for air - as warmth slides down, blood heating, awakening places that had never been touched before now. He follows Simon’s lead, rolls his hips, grinds down into hard flesh and denim and his breath catches in his chest as the feeling reverberates along his spine. He does it again, and again, holding himself up against Simon’s chest as they fall into a rhythm of push-pull, rise-fall, biting back moans and curses that threaten to overspill.

Fingers squeeze on his waist, thumbs pressing in to the hollows of his hip-bones. Kieren can feel Simon’s heart under his palm, heavy thuds picking up pace, and he’s sinking fast. Moonlight creeps through the gap in his curtains and catches Simon’s eyes making them shine in the dark. They watch each other, breathing in short bursts, keeping a steady cadence, and it’s the hottest thing Kieren’s even felt. The flush on his cheeks, his chest, is no longer from embarrassment, but from a fever that spreads across his skin and catches his insides alight. He can feel it building in his toes, sliding down, down, down his spine, and nothing, not even Rick had made him feel like this. He curls his fingers around hard biceps, holds on tight because if he doesn’t, he realises, he’ll fly away. It’s achingly slow and all too fast at the same time and Kieren’s on a knife-edge, balancing precariously, inching towards the drop.

When it hits him it steals his breath. Something low in his stomach plummets and he curves in, rocking, shaking with it, nails sinking viciously into flesh. Every muscle in his body is locked - head to toe - and something is roaring inside his head, drowning out the rapid slam of his heart under his ribs. It almost hurts and some deep recessed place in his mind welcomes the pain, thrives under it.

When he can finally breathe again he drags in air by the lungful; chest heaving, body wracking breaths. Everything relaxes at once and Simon steadies him quickly as he sways forward. The sound of his own galloping heart is so loud he swears the whole of Roarton can hear it but right now he doesn’t care if they can. Simon soothes across his back, his arms, fingers sliding into sweaty hair and pushing it back off his face so he can see.

“There ya are,” he murmurs, and Kieren doesn’t know how but he can hear the smirk in the words even when it’s not on his mouth. He loosens his hold on Simon’s arms, winces at the crescent shaped indents he’s left behind, but Simon doesn’t seem to notice. He’s staring at Kieren in wonder, leaning up to kiss him, muttering words against his mouth that he’s pretty sure aren’t english. Kieren opens under him, long trembling limbs wrapping around Simon’s neck and holding, holding on until he’s steady again. 

Simon catches his lower lip, sucks gently, slides in for another kiss as he repositions them both and Kieren suddenly realises that it wasn’t mutual. Through layers of denim and cloth he can still feel Simon’s cock, hard under the heavy fabric, and Kieren frowns. He waits, breaths slowing, body relaxing under Simon’s hands as they stroke and pet, but he doesn’t do anything about it. Kieren makes a frustrated noise against his mouth, drops a hand down to the waistband of Simon’s trousers, manages to pop the button and pull at the zip before Simon’s gently trapping his fingers against his abs

“It’s fine, you don’t-”

Kieren rolls his eyes,“Shut up” and shoves his hand down where he’d intended it to go, wraps it around hard flesh. 

“Christ.” The oath is harsh, uttered in the scant space between their lips like a whisper that falls like a weight. “Jesus Christ, Kier.”

“I said shut up, Simon.”

And Kieren’s kissing him again, pouring himself into it, pouring everything he can through his mouth and his hand. It’s awkward with their positions, half sitting in the middle of his bed, but Kieren adjusts as much as he can, and he only has two dry strokes before the pre-come is enough to make the slide comfortable. Jitters fill his stomach like demonic butterflies; a flashback to a cave in the middle of the woods where the roles were reversed crosses his mind like lightning. But this was different - new, more. Teeth are sinking into his lower lip, a kiss now desperate and brutal but for all the right reasons. Random spasms around his hips and bitten off curses guide Kieren’s movements, reactions used as markers. He scratches across his nipples deliberately with the other hand just to feel the echo of it ripple through Simon’s body, to watch tendons in his neck tighten. He does it again and again, pinching and pulling until Simon’s pressing his face into Kieren’s shoulder, using his t-shirt to muffle his groans. They rock and buck with each other, giving and receiving and falling, falling, falling. 

It doesn’t take much longer after that; one hard shudder runs through him, arms tightening around his waist, and then he’s coming into Kieren’s hand, hips twitching awkwardly beneath him. Hot, damp breath spreads out across his shoulder but Kieren doesn’t stop until Simon’s rocking them back and forth, hitching gasps catching in his chest. Only then does he pull back and wipe his hand on the sheets, makes a mental note to strip his bed and do the washing before his mum gets hold of it, and let’s Simon breathe. 

They stay like that for a while and Kieren knows its not comfortable for Simon but he’s yet to pull away. He rests his chin on his shoulder, clean hand stroking and playing with the short hairs at the nape of Simon’s neck. When he finally uncurls, straightens, it’s to stare at Kieren with dazed blue eyes. Usually neat hair is mussed and messed up, damp at the temples from sweat, and Kieren’s never seen anything so beautiful before. He kisses that bruised lush mouth once because he’s unable not to and waits for Simon’s brain to catch up. 

“Y’re a fuckin’ wonder.”

Kieren snorts, “Bet you say that to all the boys.”

Simon’s slow to shake his head, “No. Just you.” It’s a natural thing to press their foreheads together, lazy blue eyes boring straight into him. “You’re a wonder, Kieren Walker.” He pauses, “Now get off me, I can’t feel my legs.”

Kieren stifles his laughter in the sheets, watches him while the butterflies swoop in his stomach and thinks, _so are you_.


End file.
